


Consign Me Not To Darkness

by Icelandic_Flutterby



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icelandic_Flutterby/pseuds/Icelandic_Flutterby
Summary: Orodreth would like to pretend that he's just fine, honestly, but his friends and family are worried over him. Tyelperinquar decides to take matters into his own hands - and gifts Orodreth a sun lamp, to help with his depression.This has unforeseen consequences





	1. Petrosynthesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esmeraldablazingsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/gifts).



> Petrosynthesis = to draw nutrients from rock

_Touch my mouth_  
_And hold my tongue_  
_I'll never be your chosen one_  
_I'll be home, safely tucked away_  
_You can't tempt me if I don't see the day_  
  
_The pull on my flesh is just too strong_  
_It stifles the choice and the air in my lungs_  
_Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie_  
_When I open my body and breathe alive_  
  
_I will not speak of your sin_  
_There was no way out for him_  
_The mirror shows not_  
_Your values are all shot_  
  
_But oh, my heart was flawed_  
_I knew my weakness_  
_So hold my hand_  
_Consign me not to darkness_  
  
_Crawl on my belly til the sun goes down_  
_I'll never wear your broken crown_  
_I took the rope and I fucked it all the way_  
_In this twilight, how dare you speak of grace_  
  
_Crawl on my belly til the sun goes down_  
_I'll never wear your broken crown_  
_I'll take the ropes and fuck it all the way_  
_In this twilight, how dare you speak of grace_  
  
_Crawl on my belly til the sun goes down_  
_I'll never wear your broken crown_  
_I can take the rope and I can fuck it all the way_  
_But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate_

* * *

__

"your majesty?"  
**Dark** | _the wind whooshed_ | **Silent** | No light | n o n e a t a l l | ~~gone~~ | _gone gone  gone _| Father is scared  | _Orodreth_ is **scared** | Everyone is scared | Where is _the_ light? | " **Grandfather!** _He's_...!" | **__**_dark._  
  
"your majesty?"  
_Cold_ | Ice,  **freezing** , _numb_ | White | _whitewhitewhite_ | **Elenwë** | _Riel_ | Nienniel | Oronio | Gone | _cold_ | **gonegonegone** | ice.  
  
"my king?"  
Red | _redredred_ | His _hands_ | **red** | his _cheeks_ | red | _his face **his body**_ | Red | Everything is red | who? | _what?_ | Arakáno | Ñolofinwe | **Findárato.** | _Blood._ | "Where is" | _red_ | "mama?"

____

"my lord Orodreth!"

Orodreth twitched, suppressed a gasp. Everything became clearer, suddenly. Breathing fast, Orodreth stared at the face in front of him.  
"My Lord Orodreth, are you alright?" Asked the _Nér_ .  
  
Orodreth forced his breath to slow, staring at the face. He knew this face. Focus on the face, that's what _Atya_ always said. Focus on the face. Brown skin, a light dusting of freckles, brown hair, green eyes. A circlet - a soft pink gemstone in it. Worried expression.  
"I´m fine, Guilin." Orodreth finally answered.  
  
“Are you sure?” Guilin asked, voice shaking. Orodreth sat up straighter. Oh no, oh poor Guilin, he didn’t need this today - his sons!  
“I am. I apologize Guilin, I did not mean to worry you.” Orodreth promised, taking one of Guilin’s trembling hands and squeezing it reassuringly. “I merely… drifted off for a moment there. Nothing too bad.” Orodreth tried for a friendly, reassuring smile, but it felt tight and uncomfortable on his face. All energy seemed to flee him, all at once. Vala, but he was exhausted. Guilin smiled back, a wobbly smile. What a mess we two friends are, thought Orodreth, but no wonder - what with, well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rest of court looking at them. Ah, fuck.  
“Why don’t we call the rest of the meeting off?” he suggested, and the lords and ladies agreed, all leaving quickly. Orodreth bade them all goodbye, and when they were all gone, he slumped down into his chair. Well, that was an awful mess. 

“Cousin Orodreth?” Orodreth snapped back to attention, a hand flying up to stop his crown from flying off his head.  
“Yes?” he asked, frantically trying to readjust the blasted thing, praying that he didn’t look too ridiculous.  
  
“Cousin, it’s fine, you can take it off.” Orodreth looked up, and for one blinding, awful moment, thought Curufinwë was there, but no, thankfully. It was Tyelperinquar, a peaceful, patient expression on his face. Orodreth, relieved, decided Tyelperinquar deserved a smile for not being Curufinwë. Sadly, the smile looked more like a grimace.  
“What can I do for you today, cousin?” Orodreth asked. Tyelperinquar sat down on the table.  
  
“I think you must be depressed.” Tyelperinquar said, apropos of nothing. Orodreth blinked. He would splutter, but honestly, who cared?  
“I see. I am not, I just hate my life.” He told Tyelperinquar.  
  
Tyelperinquar squinted at Orodreth. “Hm” he said. “I don’t believe you.” Orodreth thought he probably should be offended, but he couldn’t be bothered. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s okay,” continued Tyelperinquar blithely. “We live in a cave, and that surely doesn't help.” Tyelperinquar lifted up a strange trinket, that he had, and showed it to Orodreth. “I do hope you don’t mind that I won’t mind that I decided to try and help you, even if just a little. Well go on, take it!”  
  
And Tyelperinquar pushed it into Orodreth’s hands. “What...” Orodreth looked at it, and it seemed to be just a normal lamp. “Is it?”  
“A sun lamp!” Said Tyelperinquar. “To make you feel better!”  
“I… see.”  
“Well! I must be off now, cousin, enjoy the lamp!” And Tyelperinquar dashed off, leaving Orodreth with the lamp. Hm.  
  


* * *

Orodreth had put the strange lamp up in his quarters. What an odd idea, a “sun lamp”. He couldn’t think of a single function for it, other than as a lightsource, and Orodreth already had plenty of those.  
  
But still, Tyelperinquar had taken the time out of his busy schedule to create and gift these lamps to him, the least Orodreth could do was to put it up. It’d be rude otherwise, and frankly - Orodreth quite liked his cousin, and had no interest in being rude to Tyelperinquar.  
  
He admired the lamp for a moment - it was excellent craftsmanship, before he sighed and sat down to work. Paperwork, sadly, must be done.  
He worked for a while, in silence, before there came a knock on the door. “Your highness?” asked Sáme, a maid of his peeked in through the door. “I have dinner, should you like it?” Orodreth nodded, waving her in.  
  
“Oh yes, please, thank you.” He smiled at her, and her eyes briefly widened, before she smiled back.  
“We’re serving spiders today, your highness, with mushrooms,” she said as she put the plate down on the table. He nodded, moving his paperwork to the side.  
“Sounds delicious.” He said, and pulled the plate closer. She bowed, and left the room. He tucked in, and finished the whole plate in record time. He glanced towards the paperwork, and found that he didn’t want to continue just yet.  
  
He wandered off towards the bathroom. He quickly washed his face, and his ears, before deciding that he wanted a bath, actually. He went and turned on the water, and as he waited for the tub to fill, he divested himself of his clothes. That done, he picked up his hairbrush, and sat down on the edge of the tub. Starting at the ends, Orodreth slowly and carefully brushed his hair, bit by bit. When the water had completely filled up, he stopped the tap, and then resumed brushing his hair until it was completely done.  
  
He then laid himself down, into the water, and relaxed. He laid there for a while, not caring to check the time. Lazily, he reached for soap, and carefully washed first his hair, then his body. He sighed, for once completely relaxed. He slowly got up and out of the water, and dried his hair. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, ‘it’s been a while since I braided my hair’ he thought, picking at the strands and fiddling about with them, wondering what he’d like to do. He hummed, turning his head this way and that, and then grinned. Going to the very front of his forehead, he put one beat at the base of the soon-to-be-braid, and then started braiding one tiny strand back. He then, one by one, braided thousands of tiny braids - intermittently putting in tiny gold and silver beads. When he reached the end of each braid, he put in larger beads, these ones of wood and stone. When he finally finished, he realized he’d forgotten to dry himself off. With a snicker, he did so quickly, then went to his bedroom, and found his old-time, favourite robe. Smiling in soft satisfaction, Orodreth went back to his study. Absentmindedly, he noticed that the maid had removed the plate.  
  
He clicked his tongue, and decided he may as well finish the paperwork now. He sat down at the desk, and diligently worked for an hour - finishing all the most important work. That done, he decided he deserved another rest.  
  
He put the paperwork back in its proper place, and then looked around to see what he wished to do. Spotting a book, one of Finduilas’, that she’d left in his office some time ago in the hope that he’d try and entertain himself for once. He hummed, and went to pick it up.  
He opened it, and sat down, beneath the sun lamp.  
  
Reading the title, he couldn’t stop an incredulous giggle. It was titled simply _"lennai muk ana fúme"_ written by _"Aironyar"_  
  
He read through this book, giggling every so often, and wondering why his daughter would leave him such a book.  
Just as he was finishing the book, someone softly knocked on the door. “Come in,” he invited, looking up to see his late-evening guest. He was delighted to realize it was Finduilas.  
_"Atya"_!” she greeted him, smiling softly and walking briskly towards him. “How are you today?” she asked, as she leaned down to kiss his cheek.  
“I’m good.” Answered Orordreth, surprised to find that he meant it. He smiled, and tugged at Finduilas’ hand, deciding that now was a good time for a cuddle session. Finduilas laughed loudly, surprised.  
  
“Atyo!” she mock protested, as she cuddled into his side. “I’m glad you're feeling good, atyo.” He glanced down at her, eyes shining with mischievousness.  
“So, about the book you lent me...” he said, and chuckled when she giggled.  
  
“I thought you’d enjoy it,” she started to say, but was interrupted by the door banging open. Startled, the king and the princess sat up straight, suddenly anticipating the worst.  
  
_"Aranya! Aranya!"_ cried Sáme, “come quick! There’s an elf in the reception hall! He claims! He says! He’s, he’s,” she heaved a breath, stuttering and frantic. Orodreth and Finduilas quickly got up and walked out, stopping by Sáme for a moment, so she could catch her breath and join them.  
  
“Who does he claim to be?” Orodreth asked calmly, silently praying that it not be Tyelkormo or Curufinwë. He nodded at the lords, ladies and the servants that gathered around them, all hurrying towards the hall.  
  
“He says, my lord, he says that he’s-” she’s cut of by the sound of a crash. The whole progression comes to a halt. Looking in the direction of the sound, the first thing Orodreth saw was the shattered vase. The second thing he saw was Guilin jumping up off of the floor, from where he’d fallen, and sprinting off, in the direction of the reception hall.  
  
Like lightning striking, Orodreth suddenly knew just what Sáme had been trying to say - there is only one reason why Guilin might run so, at the unexpected appearance of an elf.  
  
Orodreth starts running as well, uncaring about how “unseemly it might be.” He’s aware only of his path, and of his daughter Finduilas running beside him. Everything else is a blur.  
  
He reaches the reception hall, and flings the doors open.  
He stares in relief, as he sees Guilin firmly hugging the elf.  
  
“Finduilas!” Gwindor whispers - the sound carrying throughout the whole hall, despite its quietness. Finduilas sobs.  
  


* * *

The _Atan_ stood, regal and proud, and told Orodreth that his name was-  
  
“Túrin.” Gwindor interrupted. “This fine man here, beside me, is Túrin, son of Húrin. I am proud to have made his acquaintance.” Gwindor beamed. Túrin’s cheeks reddened.  
  
“Nay, tis I,” he protested, “that is lucky to have met one so valiant as you, Gwindor.”  
  
This was a very sweet thing to say, of course, but Orodreth was rather distracted. The man was in dire need of a bath, and Orodreth was just itching to draw one for him - to be rid of the stench.  
  
Orodreth raised his arms, letting his robes hang loose down to the ground, as he grandly spoke:  
  
“Welcome, Túrin, son of Húrin, to Nargothrond, be at peace and at home, friend.”


	2. I'll be home, safely tucked away

“Daddy?” Orodreth looked up to see Finduilas, standing in the doorway and peeking in. Orodreth grinned softly, immediately reminded of times when she was much younger. “Are you busy?” she asked.  
  
“I am not,” said Orodreth, deftly hiding the important paperwork he had to finish as soon as possible.  
She grinned and stepped into the room. “I was thinking, since the last time we hung out for a little bit, it wasn’t for very long.”  
  
“Ye-es?” asked Orodreth with a soft smile, eager to hear any idea she came up with.  
She giggled. “I was thinking we could make dumplings together? Like uncle Findaráto always did!”  
Orodreth nodded. “Sounds wonderful. Let’s do it.” She cheered. Orodreth laughed softly, taking her arm in his, and leading them down to the kitchens.

* * *

He had requested a smallish space for the two of them, so that they could make the dumplings without disturbing the rest of the kitchen staff.  
“Do you remember the recipe?” He asked.  
“I might need some refreshers - start with flour right?” She held up a sack of it. Orodreth nodded.  
“We start by mixing the flour with salt and warm water. When that is done, we roll it out on a flour covered, smooth surface.” Finduilas, making her concentration face, complied with these instructions.  
  
“And then we divide them into smaller parts right?”  
“Yes. As equal as we can.” Taking the dough he’d been making out of the bowl, Orodreth showed her how he began by splitting the dough in four sections, before splitting each section into the portion sizes. Eyes narrow as she focused on her task, Finduilas stuck the tip of her tongue out. Orodreth chuckled.  
  
“And now we can put anything we like in them right?” She asked.  
“Yes.” Orodreth said, even as a cook showed up with a few different types of cooked meat. 

Orodreth mixed together some cabbage with some other herbs, making enough so that they could both use it.  
He then started preparing a few vegetarian dumplings, while Finduilas prepared some pork dumplings.  
They quickly - but carefully - put the dumplings together, and then cooked them.  
“I think they’re ready!” Finduilas declared, satisfied.

  


“And just in time for dinner too!” Declared the head cook. “I’ll take these, and your majesties go up and get ready for dinner! Go go!” she shooed them. Orodreth bowed his head to her.  
“Thank you for the use of your kitchen, head-cook.” He said.  
“You’re welcome, now go! Get dressed!”

* * *

At the dinner table, Finduilas was trembling with excitement. Orodreth smiled indulgently at her. They’d invited family to dine with them, as well as the honoured guest.  
To his right was Finduilas, and to his left was Guilin. To her right was Gwindor, and Tyelperinquar sat beside Guilin. In between Gwindor and Tyelperinquar was Túrin.  
“What has you so excited?” Gwindor asked with a soft voice and a softer smile.  
“Dad and I made a special little morsel for dinner tonight!” She grinned. “Perhaps you’ll know it, Túrin? It’s an edain dish.” Túrin, looking slightly startled, looked up at her, and blinked.

“Ah, I guess we’ll see - there are a lot of edain dishes, after all.” He smiled, a little oddly - as if he’d gotten ill used to it.  
Orodreth frowned in concern. No one so young should be so troubled that they forget how to smile. That just isn’t right.  
The servants entered, and put the food down on the table, before leaving. When they were gone, Finduilas excitedly pointed out the dumplings. “Look! That’s what we made! They’re called dumplings and - ”

And that was as far as she got before Túrin burst into tears. Finduilas jumped. “Oh no!” she said sadly, “do you hate them?” Túrin quickly shook his head.  
“N-no!” He protested, sobbing. “It’s just, it’s just that, the last time I had dumplings was just before my little sister-” He covered his face in his hands and wept, and Orodreth felt a horrible feeling wash over him.  
“She was - she was only three years -” he choked on a sob, and somehow everyone at the table had gathered around Túrin, some hugging him and the others hovering, uncertain how to help. 

Orodreth pulled Túrin close, so that the atan’s ear rested up against Orodreth’s heart. That always worked to calm people.  
After a few minutes, Túrin calmed down. He pulled back from the embrace, and smiled wobbly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just haven't had dumplings in a while and they were her favourite food and I just - ” he stopped, getting choked up again, and Guilin shushed him. “Perfectly understandable,” he said softly. “I still cannot look at raisins without sobbing.”  
“Gelmir’s favourite food.” Said Gwindor, teary eyed.

“Then...” said Finduilas, also teary eyed “let us dedicate this meal to our fallen family.”  
“Sounds good.” said Tyelperinquar roughly. He was not teary eyed, but Orodreth could see that that was because of sheer force of will.  
“Agreed.” Said Orodreth.  
“To those we wish were still here with us.” he said, reaching for his glass and raising it in a toast.  
“To our beloved.” Túrin sobbed, as he raised his glass.  
“To our beloved,” The others echoed.

* * *

“How about a bridge?” Túrin asks. Orodreth closes his eyes. No, no no. No. No. Just, no. They don’t have the landscape for it - not if they need to evacuate quickly, and if Nargothrond were attacked, the people would need to be evacuated. Just, no. No bridges.  
“A bridge is easily defendable,” Túrin is saying, “and the enemy would be forced to slow down their advance, due to the bridge.” All, objectively, true, but that applies to their people too.  
  
Deciding not to speak for a moment, Orodreth listened as his council debated this issue. When he realized they were leaning towards the bridge, over something else, he quickly intervened.  
“I have thought on this issue, and heard your side, Túrin, and heard the council’s debate, but I must reject this idea. It just wouldn't do. Undeniably, it would slow down the enemy, and is more defensible, but in fact, that would be true for us as well. In the case of an attack, we must evacuate our people. How will we do that with the only exit being a bridge? We don’t, is how.”  
  
He leveled an even stare at the council, careful not to signal out anyone. “For the safety of my people, I must refuse.”  
One by one, the council agreed to this, and finally, after a moment’s thought, even Túrin agreed to this decree.  
  
The council went on for a while, before Orodreth dismissed the meeting. Túrin was the first to vacate the room. Hm. That was more hurried than usual, alas, that Orodreth could not investigate immediately, needing to stay behind in case one of the courtiers needed to speak with him.  
  
And indeed, they did, as always. A young woman came up to him, bowed and smiled. “My king,” she said, “I am Lady Calle Mahtare, of the House Mahtar. My father Quildohtaro has decided to retire from the court, and chosen me to take over those duties.”  
“A pleasure, Lady Calle Mahtare. I do look forward to working with you, although I fear I will miss your father’s occasional caustic remarks.” Whoops, perhaps shouldn’t have said that. Too late.  
  
Lady Calle Mahtare laughed. Thank goodness, no need to smooth over an Incident. “I will endeavor to be caustic, Your Highness, since it please you.” She winked, and he couldn’t have stopped the small snort of laughter if he’d wanted to.  
  
A second courtier came up to him, and they chatted for a minute, and then came another. This continued on for a few minutes, until everyone had left the room. Finally, thought Orodreth, the most tedious part done. He wandered off, intending on going for a walk. 

He walked for a while, enjoying his surroundings. The hallway from the council room was long and well decorated, filled with tapestries and paintings of Valinor. He stopped for a moment to examine a painting - smiling when he realized it depicted himself, and his father holding him. He continued on, hurrying past a portrait of Findaráto smiling with Bëor - those memories were rather painful now.  
  
He turned a corner, and wandered into the direction of the gardens. He decided to go the long route, the one used by the public. It was rare that he went this way, and he wanted to enjoy the slightly less familiar landscape.  
  
He had almost passed one of the families private gardens when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Túrin. The young man seemed troubled, and not quite himself. Orodreth debated with himself for a moment, on whether he should go speak with him, and then finally decided that, yes. He should.  
  
Striding into the garden, he greeted the young man. Túrin looked up startled. “My King!” He squeaked then coughed.“How may I help - did you need something?”  
Orodreth tutted. “Does one always need to Need something, to approach a man? No I came for your company, Túrin, if you don’t mind.”  
Túrin scooched to the side, giving Orodreth room to sit down beside the lad. Orodreth did so, and made himself comfortable. After a moment’s silence, Orodreth spoke:  
  
“Túrin, about the bridge...”  
“You made your point already." Túrin interrupted, face flushed and looking the other way. Orodreth hummed.  
  
"It's not that its a bad idea, necessarily. It would no doubt work wonderfully in Himring, for example." Túrin, from beneath his fringe, peeked at Orodreth.  
"What's the difference?" He asked, perhaps a tad sullenly. Orodreth didn't mind, he'd missed those years when Finduilas allowed herself to sulk.  
"The landscape, for one. A bridge of that size would be an architectural nightmare here!" Orodreth answered cheerfully. "Gosh, it'd no doubt be *so ugly*," he said, winking at Túrin. He smothered a smile at hearing Túrin snort with laughter. Victory, Orodreth privately thought.  
  
"And also, Himring is populated with soldiers." Orodreth turned serious, turning to look at the young man. "While we have, honestly, we barely have any soldiers, considering our populace. The people here, we are those who followed. We are those who didn't want all this - we may have thought we did, we may have just changed our minds, we may have a million things - but at the end of the day, we didn't want to be here. Unsurprising, perhaps, when the facts are that not a single one of our people knew the truth of the state of things here." He smiled grimly.  
  
"There's also the fact that, what soldiers we may have had before, well. Most of them are already dead, throughout various battles."  
Túrin sighed out an "oh".  
"Civilians." He said, and Orodreth nodded.  
"Yes. If Nargothrond were attacked - I would pray it shan't be, but I've long lost believe that Eru or his Valar would listen - our focus would be on evacuation. What soldiers there are, we would be a distraction."  
" "we"?" Túrin interrupted.  
  
"If it comes to it," Orodreth said quietly, a spark of fire in his words - a spark that no one had heard for centuries, "if it comes to that, I will be on the front lines. Doing whatever I can to give my people a chance of escape."  
  
Túrin stared at him, and Orodreth noticed a quiet look in his eyes. He wondered at it, it hadn't been there before.  
"If it comes to that, my king, I will join you, in whatever way best aide you." Túrin promised.

* * *

Orodreth had sent for Túrin. The poor lad had looked exhausted for far too long in Orodreth’s opinion, and he felt qualified for such judgement due to his own recent perpetual exhaustion.The night before, after his talk with Túrin in the gardens, he’d sent a bathtub with some fancy soaps - nothing as fancy as in Valinor, but Túrin would hardly know that - and the order that Túrin take the time to relax some, and pamper himself.  
Túrin arrived right on time, wearing the fluffiest everyday robe that Orodreth had ever seen. This robe put every single one of Findaráto’s edain fashion clothes to shame.  
  
“You needed me, my king?” Túrin asked. Orodreth shook his head.  
“No son,” he answered, “I sent for you so that I could ensure that you took the time to relax.” Túrin blinked. “Here,” said Orodreth, “sit down under this lamp.”  
“What?” asked Túrin, seemingly bewildered. He looked at the lamp again, blinked, and said faintly “interesting design,” as Orodreth steered him to sit down.  
“Yes I know. Tyelperinquar made it for me, bless his heart.” Orodreth answered fondly. “It does wonders for the self esteem, sitting under it for even just a little while.”  
  
Túrin sputtered. “The- There’s nothing wrong with my self esteem!” He protested.  
“Of course not.” Said Orordreth, smiling softly at the young man. “It’s only just a little battered.” Túrin made a protesting sound again, but Orodreth shushed him. “Just sit back, do you want to read a book, or do you want to paint your nails while I read a book?” He asked, fully settling into parenting the young man.  
The protest died on Túrin’s lips. “Um,” he said. He appeared to think this over quickly, and then asked “can you read?” Orodreth smiled.  
“Which book? And what colour do you want to paint your nails?”  
  
“Paint my nails?” Asked Túrin.  
“Oh yes, it was all the rage when I was young, in Valinor I mean. It’s gotten to be a much rarer commodity now, everyone too focused on, well. Everything. But I’ve recently found that it helps to do something for oneself, even just a little bit. It helps with staying sane through everything.” He grinned at Túrin, and then held up the few colours he had.  
  
“I have blue, red, green and yellow. Pick whichever you want.”  
Túrin thought this over, and then tentatively asked “one colour for each limb?” Orodreth raised an eyebrow. “I mean, um. Red on left hand, blue on the right foot, and so on?” Orodreth grinned wider.  
“Sounds like an excellent idea, my boy.”  
Orodreth showed Túrin how to put on the nail polish, and then let Túrin pick a book. They stayed there for the rest of the day, Orodreth having cleared his schedule for the day.


	3. So hold my hand consign

“Daddy?” Orodreth looked up to see Finduilas, standing in the doorway and peeking in. Orodreth grinned softly, immediately reminded of times when she was much younger. “Are you busy?” she asked.  
“I am not,” said Orodreth, deftly hiding the important paperwork he had to finish as soon as possible.  
She grinned and stepped into the room. “I was thinking, since the last time we hung out for a little bit, it wasn’t for very long.”  
“Ye-es?” asked Orodreth with a soft smile, eager to hear any idea she came up with.  
She giggled. “I was thinking we could make dumplings together? Like uncle Findaráto always did!”  
Orodreth nodded. “Sounds wonderful. Let’s do it.” She cheered. Orodreth laughed softly, taking her arm in his, and leading them down to the kitchens.  


* * *

He had requested a smallish space for the two of them, so that they could make the dumplings without disturbing the rest of the kitchen staff.  
“Do you remember the recipe?” He asked.  
“I might need some refreshers - start with flour right?” She held up a sack of it. Orodreth nodded.  
“We start by mixing the flour with salt and warm water. When that is done, we roll it out on a flour covered, smooth surface.” Finduilas, making her concentration face, complied with these instructions.  
“And then we divide them into smaller parts right?”  
“Yes. As equal as we can.” Taking the dough he’d been making out of the bowl, Orodreth showed her how he began by splitting the dough in four sections, before splitting each section into the portion sizes. Eyes narrow as she focused on her task, Finduilas stuck the tip of her tongue out. Orodreth chuckled.  
“And now we can put anything we like in them right?” She asked.  
“Yes.” Orodreth said, even as a cook showed up with a few different types of cooked meat.  
Orodreth mixed together some cabbage with some other herbs, making enough so that they could both use it.  
He then started preparing a few vegetarian dumplings, while Finduilas prepared some pork dumplings.  
They quickly - but carefully - put the dumplings together, and then cooked them.  
“I think they’re ready!” Finduilas declared, satisfied.  
“And just in time for dinner too!” Declared the head cook. “I’ll take these, and your majesties go up and get ready for dinner! Go go!” she shooed them. Orodreth bowed his head to her.  
“Thank you for the use of your kitchen, head-cook.” He said.  
“You’re welcome, now go! Get dressed!”  


* * *

At the dinner table, Finduilas was trembling with excitement. Orodreth smiled indulgently at her. They’d invited family to dine with them, as well as the honoured guest.  
To his right was Finduilas, and to his left was Guilin. To her right was Gwindor, and Tyelperinquar sat beside Guilin. In between Gwindor and Tyelperinquar was Túrin.  
“What has you so excited?” Gwindor asked with a soft voice and a softer smile.  
“Dad and I made a special little morsel for dinner tonight!” She grinned. “Perhaps you’ll know it, Túrin? It’s an edain dish.” Túrin, looking slightly startled, looked up at her, and blinked.  
“Ah, I guess we’ll see - there are a lot of edain dishes, after all.” He smiled, a little oddly - as if he’d gotten ill used to it.  
Orodreth frowned in concern. No one so young should be so troubled that they forget how to smile. That just isn’t right.  
The servants entered, and put the food down on the table, before leaving. When they were gone, Finduilas excitedly pointed out the dumplings. “Look! That’s what we made! They’re called dumplings and - ”  
And that was as far as she got before Túrin burst into tears. Finduilas jumped. “Oh no!” she said sadly, “do you hate them?” Túrin quickly shook his head.  
“N-no!” He protested, crying. “It’s just, it’s just that, the last time I had dumplings was just before my little sister-” He covered his face in his hands and wept, and Orodreth felt a horrible feeling wash over him.  
“She was - she was only three years -” he choked on a sob, and somehow everyone at the table had gathered around Túrin, some hugging him and the others hovering, uncertain how to help.  
Orodreth pulled Túrin close, into a tight hug.  
After a few minutes, Túrin calmed down. He pulled back from the embrace, and smiled wobbly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just haven't had dumplings in a while and they were her favourite food and I just - ” he stopped, getting choked up again, and Guilin shushed him. “Perfectly understandable,” he said softly. “I still cannot look at raisins without sobbing.”  
“Gelmir’s favourite food.” Said Gwindor, teary eyed.

“Then...” said Finduilas, also teary eyed “let us dedicate this meal to our fallen family.”  
“Sounds good.” said Tyelperinquar roughly. He was not teary eyed, but Orodreth could see that that was because of sheer force of will.  
“Agreed.” Said Orodreth.  
“To those we wish were still here with us.” he said, reaching for his glass and raising it in a toast.  
“To our beloved.” Túrin sobbed, as he raised his glass.  
“To our beloved,” The others echoed.

* * *

“How about a bridge?” Túrin asks. Orodreth closes his eyes. No, no no. No. No. Just, no. They don’t have the landscape for it - not if they need to evacuate quickly, and if Nargothrond were attacked, the people would need to be evacuated. Just, no. No bridges.  
“A bridge is easily defendable,” Túrin is saying, “and the enemy would be forced to slow down their advance, due to the bridge.” All, objectively, true, but that applies to their people too.  
Deciding not to speak for a moment, Orodreth listened as his council debated this issue. When he realized they were leaning towards the bridge, over something else, he quickly intervened.  
“I have thought on this issue, and heard your side, Túrin, and heard the council’s debate, but I must reject this idea. It just wouldn't do. Undeniably, it would slow down the enemy, and is more defensible, but in fact, that would be true for us as well. In the case of an attack, we must evacuate our people. How will we do that with the only exit being a bridge? We don’t, is how.”  
He leveled an even stare at the council, careful not to signal out anyone. “For the safety of my people, I must refuse.”  
One by one, the council agreed to this, and finally, after a moment’s thought, even Túrin agreed to this decree.  
The council went on for a while, before Orodreth dismissed the meeting. Túrin was the first to vacate the room. Hm. That was more hurried than usual, alas, that Orodreth could not investigate immediately, needing to stay behind in case one of the courtiers needed to speak with him.  
A young woman came up to him, bowed and smiled. “My king,” she said, “I am Lady Calle Mahtare, of the House Mahtar. My father Quildohtaro has decided to retire from the court, and chosen me to take over those duties.”  
“A pleasure, Lady Calle Mahtare. I do look forward to working with you, although I fear I will miss your father’s occasional caustic remarks.” Whoops, perhaps shouldn’t have said that. Too late.  
Lady Calle Mahtare laughed. Thank goodness, no need to smooth over an Incident. “I will endeavor to be caustic, Your Highness, since it please you.” She winked, and he couldn’t have stopped the small snort of laughter if he’d wanted to.  
A second courtier came up to him, and they chatted for a minute, and then came another. This continued on for a few minutes, until everyone had left the room. Finally, thought Orodreth, the most tedious part done. He wandered off, intending on going for a walk.

He walked for a while, enjoying his surroundings. The hallway from the council room was long and well decorated, filled with tapestries and paintings of Valinor. He stopped for a moment to examine a painting - smiling when he realized it depicted himself, and his father holding him. He continued on, hurrying past a portrait of Findaráto smiling with Bëor - those memories were rather painful now.  
He turned a corner, and wandered into the direction of the gardens. He decided to go the long route, the one used by the public. It was rare that he went this way, and he wanted to enjoy the slightly less familiar landscape.  
He had almost passed one of the families private gardens when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Túrin. The young man seemed troubled, and not quite himself. Orodreth debated with himself for a moment, on whether he should go speak with him, and then finally decided that, yes. He should.  
Striding into the garden, he greeted the young man. Túrin looked up startled. “My King!” He squeaked then coughed.“How may I help - did you need something?”  
Orodreth tutted. “Does one always need to Need something, to approach a man? No I came for your company, Túrin, if you don’t mind.”  
Túrin scooched to the side, giving Orodreth room to sit down beside the lad. Orodreth did so, and made himself comfortable. After a moment’s silence, Orodreth spoke:  
“Túrin, about the bridge...”  
“You made your point already." Túrin interrupted, face flushed and looking the other way. Orodreth hummed.  
"It's not that its a bad idea, necessarily. It would no doubt work wonderfully in Himring, for example." Túrin, from beneath his fringe, peeked at Orodreth.  
"What's the difference?" He asked, perhaps a tad sullenly. Orodreth didn't mind, he'd missed those years when Finduilas allowed herself to sulk.  
"The landscape, for one. A bridge of that size would be an architectural nightmare here!" Orodreth answered cheerfully. "Gosh, it'd no doubt be *so ugly*," he said, winking at Túrin. He smothered a smile at hearing Túrin snort with laughter. Victory, Orodreth privately thought.  
"And also, Himring is populated with soldiers." Orodreth turned serious, turning to look at the young man. "While we have, honestly, we barely have any soldiers, considering our populace. The people here, we are those who followed. We are those who didn't want all this - we may have thought we did, we may have just changed our minds, we may have a million things - but at the end of the day, we didn't want to be here. Unsurprising, perhaps, when the facts are that not a single one of our people knew the truth of the state of things here." He smiled grimly.  
"There's also the fact that, what soldiers we may have had before, well. Most of them are already dead, throughout various battles."  
Túrin sighed out an "oh".  
"Civilians." He said, and Orodreth nodded.  
"Yes. If Nargothrond were attacked - I would pray it shan't be, but I've long lost believe that Eru or his Valar would listen - our focus would be on evacuation. What soldiers there are, we would be a distraction."  
" "we"?" Túrin interrupted.  
"If it comes to it," Orodreth said quietly, a spark of fire in his words - a spark that no one had heard for centuries, "if it comes to that, I will be on the front lines. Doing whatever I can to give my people a chance of escape."  
Túrin stared at him, and Orodreth noticed a quiet look in his eyes. He wondered at it, it hadn't been there before.  
"If it comes to that, my king, I will join you, in whatever way best aide you." Túrin promised.  


* * *

Orodreth had sent for Túrin. The poor lad had looked exhausted for far too long in Orodreth’s opinion, and he felt qualified for such judgement due to his own recent perpetual exhaustion.The night before, after his talk with Túrin in the gardens, he’d sent a bathtub with some fancy soaps - nothing as fancy as in Valinor, but Túrin would hardly know that - and the order that Túrin take the time to relax some, and pamper himself.  
Túrin arrived right on time, wearing the fluffiest everyday robe that Orodreth had ever seen. This robe put every single one of Findaráto’s edain fashion clothes to shame.  
“You needed me, my king?” Túrin asked. Orodreth shook his head.  
“No son,” he answered, “I sent for you so that I could ensure that you took the time to relax.” Túrin blinked. “Here,” said Orodreth, “sit down under this lamp.”  
“What?” asked Túrin, seemingly bewildered. He looked at the lamp again, blinked, and said faintly “interesting design,” as Orodreth steered him to sit down.  
“Yes I know. Tyelperinquar made it for me, bless his heart.” Orodreth answered fondly. “It does wonders for the self esteem, sitting under it for even just a little while.”  
Túrin sputtered. “The- There’s nothing wrong with my self esteem!” He protested.  
“Of course not.” Said Orordreth, smiling softly at the young man. “It’s only just a little battered.” Túrin made a protesting sound again, but Orodreth shushed him. “Just sit back, do you want to read a book, or do you want to paint your nails while I read a book?” He asked, fully settling into parenting the young man.  
The protest died on Túrin’s lips. “Um,” he said. He appeared to think this over quickly, and then asked “can you read?” Orodreth smiled.  
“Which book? And what colour do you want to paint your nails?”  
“Paint my nails?” Asked Túrin.  
“Oh yes, it was all the rage when I was young, in Valinor I mean. It’s gotten to be a much rarer commodity now, everyone too focused on, well. Everything. But I’ve recently found that it helps to do something for oneself, even just a little bit. It helps with staying sane through everything.” He grinned at Túrin, and then held up the few colours he had.  
“I have blue, red, green and yellow. Pick whichever you want.”  
Túrin thought this over, and then tentatively asked “one colour for each limb?” Orodreth raised an eyebrow. “I mean, um. Red on left hand, blue on the right foot, and so on?” Orodreth grinned wider.  
“Sounds like an excellent idea, my boy.”  
Orodreth showed Túrin how to put on the nail polish, and then let Túrin pick a book. They stayed there for the rest of the day, Orodreth having cleared his schedule for the day.


	4. In the fell clutch of circumstance

Túrin had just finished taking a bath, and was now in his coziest clothes, sitting in his comfiest chair, reading his favourite book. It had been translated by king Finrod, but the true author was an atan. According to the introduction, the author had been called Jonni. Jonni had, apparently, written _The story of Kullervo_ for many many years. Jonni had not been satisfied until he'd written draft upon draft upon draft. It took him 50 years to write that book. This fact fascinated Túrin, who could not imagine having so much free time to be able to write a book for 50 years.

The protagonist was a genuinely awful human being, but Túrin couldn’t help but be quite fond of him. Kullervo reminded him of some of the members of the Gaurwaith. 

As he sat reading, the mountains rumbled. Túrin looked right, towards the nearest door. “Wonder what that was,” he muttered to himself, and closed his book. He walked out of the room, seeking the princess and her fiance - his friends. He walked, as always, fast and sure, and arrived in under half an hour. He smiled at the sight of the wonderful elves before him, and greeted them joyfully. 

“Did you feel that rumble, earlier?” he asked as he sat down beside them. Finduilas smiled at him as she snuggled against him, and Gwindor sighed - content - as he lay his head in Túrin’s lap. 

“Mmmm.” said Finduilas, and continued reading her book, only barely aware of Túrin having asked anything. Gwindor and Túrin shared a grin.

“Yes,” said Gwindor. “I did.” Gwindor stretched his legs, looking a little, thought Túrin, like a cat. “I doubt it’s anything to be worried about,” continued Gwindor. “Surely just an earthquake.” Túrin hummed, allowing himself to sink into the chair.

“You sound worried, though.” Túrin said. Gwindor turned his head and buried his face in Túrin’s stomach. He replied, but it was too muffled for Túrin to make out. 

He decided not to let that bother him, and instead, started to gently stroke Gwindor’s hair. “You can always tell me if something is bothering you.” Túrin gently reminded his friend.

“MY LADY! PRINCESS! PRINCESS!” Shouted Finduilas  
servant as she threw the door open. The three of them jolted upright, Gwindor banging his head on Túrin jaw, Túrin accidentally kicking the coffee table and Finduilas dropping the book on her toes.  
“Yes?” she asked.

“The mountain is under attack!” the servant wailed, “the king summons all lords and ladies to the council room!” he sobbed. 

Túrin felt an icy fear claw its way up his back. He closed his eyes, wishing for a moment to not have to see the same fear mirrored in Finduilas’ and Gwindor’s faces. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, sighed.

“I’ll go get my weapons.” He said, softly, and quickly reached out to squeeze Gwindor’s hand, offering what comfort he could. He smiled tightly when he felt Finduilas squeeze his other hand. “I’ll meet you there.”

Túrin all but ran for his rooms, flinging the door open and headed straight for his chest. Quickly, but calmly, he opened it, and took out his things. With deft hands, he put the armour on, grateful when a servant arrived to help him tighten the straps, and to adjust what needed adjusting. As he put on his weapons, miss Nórimiel quickly pulled his hair into a bun. Not the best hairdo for battle, but it had to do - better than nothing, and they certainly did not have time for anything more elaborate. When he was ready, he dashed out again, pausing only long enough to thank Nórimiel for the help, and tell him to go get his family. Túrin ran as quickly as he could to the council chamber, slowing only when he neared the room itself.

He swiftly entered, noticing that he was thankfully not the last one in. He hurried over to where Gwindor and Finduilas stood. He smiled tightly, taking position on Finduilas’ other side. They said nothing as they waited for everyone to arrive, but instead silently drew support from one another.

“As you have all heard,” Orodreth began the meeting solemnly, “an army of orcs knocks on our doors.” The silence in the council room was thick, not a sound could be heard except that of the king’s voice. “We need to meet them at the gate. Lady Mahtare, are you capable of being the captain?” She nodded briskly. “Good. Go immediately, gather all soldiers and guards you can find. Lord Rodon, please gather the civilians and go to the royal family’s corridor. Finduilas will show you where the secret entrance is, so that you may escape if worse comes to worse.” Finduilas and [name] both nodded sharply. “Gwindor, although I wish I could avoid it, I must ask. Are you capable of fighting at this time?”

Gwindor took an unsteady breath. “Yes.” He said, determined. Orodreth nodded.

“Then I ask that you join lady Mahtare, along with Túrin and Tyelperinquar.” All three nodded sharply, and turned to leave for their positions. Gwindor paused only to kiss Finduilas’s hands. She smiled sadly.

In this manner, Orodreth gave everyone their orders quickly. Not an hour from the original call had passed by the time everyone was in their positions.

Túrin stood with the others, waiting for the battle to begin. No one spoke, but to say that the place was quiet would have been a lie. Many people were fidgeting, and more others were praying. From his position, Túrin could not hear if they prayed for themselves, or for those they knew. 

Thrum thrum, thunk. Thrum thrum, thunk.

The sound of the approaching army was terrible. Thrum thrum, thunk. It drew ever nearer. Thrum thrum, thunk. Soon now, Túrin thought. Gwindor caught his eye. 

Thrum thrum, thunk. Túrin tried for a smile, but it felt stretched. Gwindor however, smiled back. Immediately, Túrin felt reassured. Gwindor was still here, and while he was, the world would keep on going.

Thrum thrum, thunk. Túrin drew in a large breath. Thrum thrum, thunk. He exhaled. Thrum thrum, thunk.

Silence. Thunk, crash, crack. “They’re at the gate!” someone screamed. Thunk, crash, crack.  
“They’re trying to break it!” someone else shouted. Thunk, crash, crack.  
“Open the gate! They’ll be through regardless!” Lady Mahtare ordered. Túrin drew his sword.  


* * *

Túrin stabbed an orc, breathing heavily. Behind him, he heard a shuffle, and he quickly turned around, moving not-quite quickly enough. An orc managed to slash at his shoulder, and Túrin grit his teeth in pain. With his non dominant hand, Túrin pushed his dagger into the orcs stomach.

As the orc falls down, Túrin saw a flash of gold ahead of him. He looked up, expecting to see Orodreth, or Fínea, or perhaps Ewdil. He had not expected to see Finduilas. She was cornered, surrounded by orc on all sides. She held a sword aloft, both hands on the hilt and held straight up, knees crouched and shoulders hunched. She looked terrified.  
With a shocked gasp, Túrin started to run to her. Wam!

Túrin saw red spots. He fell to his knees though he barely noticed, he tried to keep his eyes on Finduilas, but his vision was going black. With a thud, Túrin fell unconscious on the floor.  


* * *

"Túrin? Túrin wake up, I can see your eyes opening, can you hear me?"  
With a pained moan, Túrin nods. "You can hear me?" Gwindor asks softly, for clarification. Túrin nods again, grimacing with pain. "Good, good." Says Gwindor softly.

"What happened?" Túrin began to ask, but ended up coughing harshly, throat dry as Thangorodrim in the height of summer. 

"Ai, here, have some water lad" says another voice, familiar, friendly and soft, and blindly, Túrin takes the water pouch and chugs it. "Ai! Slowly, my friend, slowly, lest you thirst again soon." The kind man scolded. Túrin opened his eyes, immediately comforted by the grizzly face of Gwindor, who was smiling softly.

Taking a quick look around, Túrin noted that the other elf to have spoken was Guilin, while the king Orodreth, and Lord Tyelperinquar were sat by him also.

"The battle is over, Túrin," Gwindor was saying. "You killed the dragon, remember? That was - whoa, i'm still trying to believe it." Gwindor grinned, pulling at his scar tissue in an ugly way. Túrin was struck by his beauty once again. "And the orcs are gone, thankfu-"  
"Gone?" Asked Túrin hoarsely, "not, not dead?" 

Guilin shook his head. "Alas," spoke Orodreth, "but some got away - Túrin? What? What are you doing? You are injured! Sit back down!" 

As Orodreth spoke, Túrin had stumbled up, and, still heavily injured, was trying to run. It wasn't going so well, he kept tripping and nearly falling. The commotion brought attention to the five men, and soldiers looked on in interest as Túrin struggled.

"Túrin!" Said Gwindor, "what is your hurry? The orcs are-"

"They have Finduilas!" Túrin said, desperation colouring his voice, "they have - I saw them take - I couldn't reach them"  
All colour had fled Orodreth's face. Tyelpe caught up with Túrin, and stopped him from going further. 

"They have her?" He asked sharply. Helplessly, Túrin nodded.  
"This is all my fault!" Túrin choked back a sob. "First Saeros, then the Gaurwaith, then Beleg, and now this!" He clutched at Tyelperinquar's shirt front as he sobbed hysterically. Tyelperinquar awkwardly patted his head.  
“Nonsense,” he said, “it’s not your fault.”

“Mobilize at once! They are surely headed for Angband!” Immediately, the survivors started preparations to head after her, but despite best efforts, they could not begin searching immediately. Every single person present had taken part in the fighting, and thus likely injured, or had been too young to take part in the fighting, and thus unable to go searching by themselves. They didn’t manage to send anyone out until half a day later, at which point they sent out the healthiest elves they could find. 

Two days after that, they managed to send out more people, some who joined the original parties, and others who went searching elsewhere. This time, there was no stopping Túrin and Gwindor from joining. Tyelperinquar joined them, but Orodreth and Guilin went with a different group.

They searched tirelessly for weeks, each group working hard to try and find the beloved princess. Túrin spent a lot of time directing the elves all around - they might have long memories, but it's still been a long time since they were outside Nargothrond. Túrin had been there fairly recently. 

It was on one such occasion that a group came back from their search. Their ears were turned downward, and their lips trembled. As they approached, Túrin noticed that the leader held something close to his heart. Túrin’s breath froze in his chest. “Sir,” said the parties leader, voice trembling, as he held out the bundle he’d found. Hands trembling, Túrin accepted the bundle, pulling it apart to see what it was. He gave an unsteady breath when it revealed itself as Finduilas’ cloak.

“G- good job.” He stuttered out, as this was the first sign they’d found of her. “I’ll take this to the king.” He said, softly. He bowed to the elves around him, and then walked briskly off to the cave’s entrance. There, he met Orodreth.  
“My king,” he began, voice uncharacteristically small, “one of the parties found this.” He said as he gave his king the cloak.

Orodreth sank down to the ground. “We aren’t going to find her.” He said despairing, holding her bloodied cloak.There was a tear in the middle of it - roughly positioned where her heart would be, were she wearing it. Guilin placed a gentle hand on Orodreth’s shoulder.  
“We’ll have to have a funeral.” Orodreth whispered, quietly Lips turned slightly up, a furrow in his eyebrows and his eyes tight. Guilin squeezed his shoulder.


End file.
